Opening my eyes, the green numbers on the clock glowed precisely two forty-seven a.m. B.W. must have jumped up beside me. He was allowed to do so when it thundered or lightning flashed. He was afraid of the storms. Closing my eyes, sleep cloaked my brain, then it dawned on me that my magnum was not on the table next to the clock and the weather was perfect. Slowly, I turned over and could see the gray hair and Cheshire grin – Hebrone. "You better come out back." He lay my magnum on the bed and disappeared into the dark. Am I dreaming, or is this real? Blinking, I knew that Hebrone was no apparition. Walking into the kitchen, I could see lights in the rear of the cottage. The back door stood open. A pickup truck, its engine shut off, headlights on, was the source of the illumination. Twenty yards from the cottage, a post oak stood among several other oaks, sweetgum, and hickory. It grew at an angle and was about a foot in diameter. All of the limbs protruded southeast, its only opening to the sun.
